Final Journey
by mew-xena
Summary: Her name alone shone brightly out from the golden plaque. It was meant to honor her, her whom had given her life protecting her beliefs. But to them it was only a constant reminder of their loss. One-shot.


**This is my first Stargate fic, so if it's a bit OOC, that's why. I loved writing this story. Note: ONE-SHOT**

ALONG FOR THE JOURNEY

MajorSamantha Carter.

There were many names above hers, but none held any meaning to the three men. Her name alone shone brightly out from the golden plaque. It was meant to honor her, her whom had given her life protecting her beliefs. But to them it was only a constant reminder of their loss. Of her brilliant smile, genius thinking, crazy solutions, all never to be seen again.

Sometimes they'd almost get over it, perhaps a small laugh, a slight smile, a sly prank. But then, walking down that hall, they'd remember again and the sorrow would come. And along with the sorrow came the guilt. How could they be enjoying themselves, being happy, loving life, when she never could again? So it would be back to grieving and self-pity. Until the next emotional breakthrough. The rise, only to be followed by the fall. A complete, never ending circle.

Three men stood there that day, on the ramp. They stood there in silence, respectful, grieving silence.

The first was tall, well built man. His outwards appearance showed little signs of emotions. A single tear rolled down his face, and his eyes were simply pools of sorrow. Above them was a golden symbol that signified him for what he truly was; a jaffa. But he was more then that, he was a friend, a teammate, an ally. And to her he was a comrade, one who understood at least a bit what she felt. The others would never know, but many a night after Jolinear's sacrifice, she had turned to this man and his silent wisdom for comfort. For he at least knew some of what she spoke, having experienced the same thing yet in a very different way. And he was doomed to experience it for the rest of his life. This man, with his painful past, his many betrayals, and his unique resistance was her outlet for the emotions from these strange experiences. He was, in a sense, her shoulder to cry on. Little did she know, he would someday need a shoulder to cry on, and all because of her.

Beside him there was another man. He was widely different to his friends, a scholar, not a warrior. His shoulders racked in silent sobs and his face had red tear-tracks. This man was use to death, his mother and father in a horrific accident. His wife, his friends, even he himself was once thought to be dead. But can one truly get you to death? Never. The loss was evident on his face. This man was her intellect equivalent in different areas. He was strong in culture, she was strong in logic and tactics. He knew languages, she knew science. He figured rituals, she figured equations. They were the top notch of their area. And yet, they both were strong on their values. They both played by their own rules as much as was allowed, by their own morals. She was his 'sister' in sense and he was her 'brother'. He stood on that ramp as her brother, her equal, her friend, grieving the loss of her.

The final man stood away from the other two, face dry and brown eyes hard, his mouth set into a firm line. To the unknown onlooker, he looked a determined, cold, heartless man. But those who knew him knew his grief and those we were his friends pitied him through their own sorrow. For this was the deceased's forbidden love. There was no tale of Romeo and Juliet, no secret meetings, no arguing families, no tragic ending where the two leading roles are finally together in death. This was a story of regulations, hidden glances and a single, solitary room. This man loved her, but their unique positions, their jobs could not, would not, allow it. He hadn't come into their program to find the good things in life; no, he had come in expecting to die. He hadn't come into it expecting to find friends; instead he had found the three best ones he could wish for. He hadn't come in expecting to find love; instead he had fallen for a certain blue-eyed, golden haired Major. The impossible can be done, he was proof. But their love was past the impossible, past the imaginable. It was more then impossible, it was destiny. And she had died not knowing.

No honor can fully be paid this woman, no grief, no respect can fill the gap she left behind. She was more then a hero, more then a survivor, more then an ideal, more then a martyr. More then a savior; she was a human being. She had her less-then-ideal traits, her imperfections, her secrets. Temptation played along the edges of her soul, but she resisted it and that in their eyes made her a true hero.

The honorable men and women of the SGC stood in the Gate Room, paying their last respects to the women who had given it all for them and had left an unforgettable impression on their very souls.

Little did they know, they were also mourning the lost of three souls.

Three men stood on the ramp that day.

A confidence. A brother. A love.

The three men most important to her, and vice versa.

Major Samantha Carter had died and, unknowingly, taken their souls with her.

Along for her final journey.


End file.
